


Lady Stardust

by WhatWldMrsWeasleyDo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-30
Updated: 2014-04-09
Packaged: 2018-01-18 18:49:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1439002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatWldMrsWeasleyDo/pseuds/WhatWldMrsWeasleyDo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sirius' little brother is in a band. He catches Remus' eye when the Marauders go to watch them play. Set during the Marauders Era, post-Hogwarts. Features explicit slash. Remus/Regulus smut. Based on the song, 'Lady Stardust' from David Bowie's album, "The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. THE BOY IN THE BRIGHT BLUE JEANS

**Author's Note:**

> **Beta** : [](http://nathaniel-hp.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://nathaniel-hp.livejournal.com/)**nathaniel_hp**
> 
> DISCLAIMER: J K Rowling thought it all up and now I am playing with some of her characters and situations. David Bowie thought up quite a bit of it, too, including the story and chapter titles and some other sentences and situations.

THE BOY IN THE BRIGHT BLUE JEANS

“Shit! It’s like punk never happened,” Sirius grumbled, leaning even further back into the dark corner of the pub.

“It’s so Muggle!” James enthused, craning round and staring at everything.

The atmosphere was heavy with cigarette smoke through which the young Muggles moved. The long-haired boys and highly painted girls pushed against each other, walking from the bar and the toilets to the little tables and back again. Most of them wore mostly denim and dark T-shirts. A few stood out courtesy of coloured stockings, a bleached fringe or an obscene slogan.

The ashtrays in the middle of each table were piled high with cigarette butts, surrounded by small cardboard squares of beermat, each advertising the same cheap, watery lager. Many of them had been ripped up or their surface images peeled off. Most of the glasses sat directly on the scratched varnish of the table tops.

The glasses contained varying amounts of different brownish liquids and greyish foams. They were being emptied enthusiastically and at high speed by the young Muggles, very few of whom had managed to find a low stool to sit on. They chatted and called loudly over the rock music blaring from the tinny speakers high up on the nicotine-coloured walls.

Remus gently pulled James back by the sleeve of his new leather jacket. The shorter boy was bouncing on the balls of his feet with obvious excitement.

“Try to be a bit cool,” Remus advised.

“Cool. Right.” James tossed his hair and stuck his hands in his pockets, pouting in a way he imagined made him look like James Dean. His eyes continued to dart all over the place.

The four Marauders were at the very back of the pub, far from the teeming bar and close to the small, dirty window. They clutched full pint glasses from which they sipped infrequently, unused to the yeasty, hoppy taste. The more regular, less magical, clients of The John Bull Pub, kept turning round to give them assessing looks, either wary or hostile.

Across the sea of people was a tiny stage with an oversized drum kit sitting on it. On the largest drum was scrawled in blood red marker pen “Toujours Pur” -- the name of the band.

“How much longer do we have to stay?” Sirius asked sulkily, scowling at his surroundings.

“I like it,” Peter announced brightly.

His loudly cheerful tone caused several nearby punters to stare at him. The tartan trousers which he thought so Muggle didn’t help. Remus sighed.

“What are we drinking?” Sirius eyed his pint aggressively.

“Look, it’s beer. Don’t worry about it. Just hold the glass,” Remus hissed. “Nobody’s making you stay,” he added.

A high-pitched squeak cut through all the other noise. Two tall, long-haired boys were plugging in guitars. It was impossible to tell which of them had created the feedback. With the clang of a dropped cymbal, the broad, black drummer climbed into place too.

“At bloody last!” Sirius exclaimed. “Where is he, then?”

Anyone would have thought he was there under protest, but it had been his idea to come tonight. Remus sighed again and looked over at his friend -- one boot against the wall behind him, head cocked defensively. His faded jeans clung to his long skinny legs in all the right places. Even when he was being infuriating, Remus couldn’t be angry with him.

There was a ripple of murmuring through the audience, and Remus realised that he had missed the entrance of the singer. He looked up. Everyone else was still and silent as the confident young man strode from the toilets in one corner to the stage in the other. His hair was long, straight and black. The people stared at the makeup on his face -- a base of thick, white panstick, black lipstick and eyeliner and heavy multi-coloured glitter on his eyelids.

His movements were feline, graceful, arrogant, and his face defiantly handsome. Just like his brother's.

“What the hell does he think he looks like?” Sirius muttered into the silence.

A few of the young Muggles nearby tittered, releasing a wave of giggling and jeering through the room. Then the boy in the bright blue jeans jumped up on the stage and the laughter stopped. The drummer started a simple rhythm and the guitarists joined him. Regulus Black took hold of the microphone, closed his eyes and began to sing.

His voice was sweet and strong, carrying the dark sadness of his songs across the room, entrancing his listeners. All except one.

Sirius shook his head dismissively. “What a load of crap,” he snorted.

The song seemed to go on for ever. Regulus played to the crowd, dipping his head to cover his face with his curtain of hair, then looking up so that it swung behind him, bringing the microphone with him, exposing his carefully decorated face to the single spotlight. The smooth, white skin of his upper arms was exposed by his plain white vest top, and his arms swept the air as he sang, expressing the darkness, disgrace and dismay of his lyrics.

“Looks like a poof. What is he thinking?” his brother continued petulantly. “What’s with the long silk gloves?”

“What do you think the gloves are for?” Peter responded with a note of disdain in his voice. “Hiding his forearms.”

Sirius’ sullen mask slipped for a moment as the inference of  his friend’s words hit him. Horror crossed his features and he asked, “You think he’s taken it?” Then he closed down his expression again. “Yeah, about right. He’s stupid enough,” he grunted.

Remus found himself swaying to the lilting tune. It was alright. The band were all together, and Regulus certainly knew what he was doing. He was revelling in being the centre of attention, just like his brother did. His body shape was like Sirius’ too, though a little shorter and slimmer, less muscular. Unlike Sirius, though, he was displaying his body in a way and a place that made it OK for Remus to stare at him. His movements were fluid, his voice enticing, his lips soft, full and mobile. Remus involuntarily touched his own mouth.

He wasn’t the only one enjoying the singer as much as the song. Women had begun to unbutton their blouses, hitch up their skirts, reapply lipstick and tease their hair. They inched forward, swaying their hips in an exaggerated fashion as they emerged from the shadows, drawn to the figure in the light on the stage.

Some boys in the crowd shouted out encouragement, whooping and whistling. Those who had stools stood up on them. A few stood up on tables. They held their arms aloft and stomped their feet.

“Bloody waste of time,” Sirius spat, moving up off the wall and starting to push his way through the crowd. “I’m going home!” he called back. “You coming?”

Peter and James looked at each other.

“There’s another band later. I wanted to stay for them,” James shouted over. Peter nodded his agreement.

“Fuck you, then,” Sirius muttered and strode off through the enthusiastic mob.

The other three wizards looked at each other. After a moment, Remus shrugged and walked after him.


	2. HIS LONG BLACK HAIR, HIS ANIMAL GRACE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus and Regulus in the Gent's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter 2 WARNING** : Contains two boys who are barely acquainted in a public convenience starting to do rude things to each other. They are quite young. I’m British and this is set in Britain and the age of Consent here is sixteen. Sorry if you are reading somewhere else with different laws and have a different idea about what age people should be before they have sex. In fact, at the time in which this fic is set, the legal age here for gay male sex was twenty-one. For hets it was sixteen and there was no legislation regarding lesbians. At least it’s all the same now. Sometimes there is some progress!

Remus moved slowly through the crowded pub. He could see Sirius’ long back and tousled black hair ahead of him, but made no effort to catch up. Sirius walked out of the front door without looking round. 

Just then the set ended and the audience erupted. They leapt up and down, arms aloft, screaming, stamping and whistling. This was one of the few occasions on which Remus found himself grateful for being shorter than average. Looking back the way he had come, he couldn’t see James or Peter any more, meaning that they couldn’t see him either. Walking with slightly bent knees - just to be sure - he jostled his way past the busy bar and ducked into the Gents’ toilet.

It was small, grimy and smelled of piss. As he had expected. Along the wall to his right were urinals, opposite him were two cubicles and along the left-hand side were the wash hand basins*. On the floor under the basin nearest to the door, he was pleased to see a plastic carrier bag with a navy sweater poking out of it.

There were no mirrors. He could have done with a mirror. He ran his fingers through his hair, brushed some fluff off his T-shirt. He positioned himself against the farthest basin and blew into a cupped hand to check his breath (a bit beery but OK). He slid his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and leant back casually, the china hard against his arse.

Through the open door came the loud enthusiasm of the pub’s customers. There was the whistle of feedback again. Regulus walked in with his head up and a barely suppressed grin. He glanced briefly at Remus, then turned on both taps and filled the basin nearest to the door. There was gleam of sweat over his shoulders, droplets seeping through the makeup on his forehead and nose. Remus didn’t move and pretty soon Regulus looked over at him again.

“Great set,” Remus said, trying to make his voice sound deep and sexy.

Regulus looked down into the water, smiling to himself again. He rolled down the long, blue glove on his right hand, pulled it off and tested the temperature of the water. He dropped the glove into the carrier bag at his feet. Then he looked up at Remus again with a quizzical expression.

“You’ve got a great voice,” purred the werewolf.

“Thanks.” 

Regulus leant over the water and splashed his face, when he looked up again the eyeliner had started to bleed into the thick, white base coat, giving him the look of a drunken pierrot, without diminishing the handsomeness of his features at all.

“You write the songs?” Remus asked. “They’re really good and …” Remus paused to give the younger man an unmistakeable look, “you look fantastic.”

Regulus’ grin widened and he straightened up. He ran his eyes up and down Remus’ body, saying, “You don’t look too bad yourssss-” he broke off, focussing fully on Remus’ face. His voice hardened and he changed to a defensive posture when he added, “Oh, it’s you. Is he here?”

Remus looked down at his feet. “He was,” he admitted, “but he’s gone.”

“Did he hate it?”

“How could he hate it? You were brilliant,” Remus hedged.

“It’s not like I care,” Regulus muttered.  He stared into the water, at the white and black eddies swirling through it. There was a moment of indecision, then he kicked the door to the pub closed, before pulling a wand from his left glove and running it over his face. The makeup disappeared and he replaced the wand.

Still staring into the water, he growled, “Why are you here?”

Remus shrugged. His heart was thumping. He hoped it didn’t show. Things had been going so well until the Slytherin schoolboy had recognised him.

“Just wanted to congratulate you. You were good, just thought I’d try and find you, tell you that.”

Regulus wrenched the plug sharply out of the bottom of the basin, breaking the chain. As the water dropped noisily away, he snapped, “Well you can tell my brother from me --”

“He doesn’t know I’m here.”

Regulus gave Remus a quiet, appraising look before asking, “What do you want?”

Remus thought that he’d made that blindingly obvious. ‘Come on, boy’, he thought, ‘you know this game.’ But maybe he didn’t. He was young, after all, two years younger than Remus. Maybe the flirtatious swagger was an act. Remus tried to think back two years.

Regulus straightened up, his gloved left hand on his hip: “Just because I’ve got long hair and wear make-up, it doesn’t mean that I’m queer!”

No, it was his responses before he had recognised him that had told Remus that. The stage outfit had just given him reason to hope, to wonder if it might be worth his while to come back here and try.

Remus made eye contact and held it as he walked towards the door. He was hoping for some sign of regret, and caught it in the younger man’s anxious pout. As he passed him, apparently on his way out, Remus stretched out a hand and lightly touched the dark, straight, beyond-shoulder-length hair which shone so black it was almost blue.

“Nice hair,” he murmured, quietly and casually.

Regulus swallowed nervously and Remus wondered again how much experience his best friend’s little brother had had. “I look after it,” he grunted in answer. 

Remus didn’t withdraw his hand as he asked, “The rest of the band?”

“Putting away the instruments. They don’t have a costume to change.”

Remus nodded. That was as he had hoped. He moved his hand up closer to the warm scalp. He continued to look into the grey eyes - nearly the same but not quite.

As though reading his thoughts Regulus asserted, “I’m not going to be a substitute.” It was in a voice without strength, though, a voice from which all resistance had drained away.

“Of course not. So handsome.” Remus’ voice was mesmerisingly soft as he ran a thumb over a full lower lip. 

Remus leaned forward fast and kissed that lip. Regulus responded at first, then pulled back to hiss, glancing over at the door, “You want to get us beaten up? Arrested?”

Remus grabbed him by the wrists and dragged him into one of the cubicles, muttering, “I’d be the one arrested. I’m the older one.”

“Public place!” Regulus reminded him, before he was slammed against the cubicle door and the kiss resumed, Remus sliding shut the lock in the same movement.

Kissing wasn’t an arrestable offence, though it would probably get them beaten up. Regulus was clearly intending to take things further, to move on to something illegal. The thought made Remus moan as he ran his hands over the smooth form of the young body against his. Regulus was gripping the back of his neck fiercely, his tongue battling equally, clearly very willing. But he was also still scared. At Remus’ moan he broke the kiss again to pant a shushing noise.

Remus fumblingly pulled his wand out of his front jeans pocket and covered them both with a silencing charm. He ran his gaze over pale, even features, ran his hands down toned hips and gasped, “Gorgeous!”

This time it was Regulus who darted his head down and forward and initiated the passionate snog. Their torsos pressed against each other, engorged groins thrusting into each other, hands rubbing and groping. Remus stroked his hands down Regulus’ chest, to the stiff waistband of his new jeans, pushed his thumbs under the thick denim, touching bare flesh - hot and soft - Regulus responding with an undulating movement, ran his thumbs round to the front where the button and the zip and the bulge were. He started to work on the fastenings.

“Stop!”

Remus hadn’t even noticed the loss of the warm wetness of the other mouth. Startled, he stared at Regulus’ flushed, wild-eyed expression. Stop now?

“I have to show you something,” Regulus started. Then, haltingly, he forced out, “If it stops you, if we go further, I mean … I don’t think I could cope if we were further down the road and it put you off.”

“You’re gorgeous,” Remus tried again, hoping for the same response as before. He knew full well what he wanted Regulus to show him. Everything else was irrelevant.

Then Regulus gently pushed him off and the naked fingers of his right hand plucked at the ends of the gloved ones, releasing each digit from the tight blue satin before pulling off the whole glove. The wand within it made it clatter against the cement floor as it landed. Regulus twisted his arm over, held it up, displayed it.

Remus stared, appalled, at the skull and snake symbol scorched into the young skin.


	3. REALLY QUITE PARADISE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus and Regulus get it on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by David Bowie's song _Lady Stardust_ on _The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and The Spiders From Mars._

The harsh fluorescence of the strip-light glared yellow onto Regulus’ upraised arm. Remus stared speechlessly at the Mark displayed there. His mind was attempting a debate relating to things like morality and loyalty but it was difficult to hear it over the rushing blood still transporting testosterone round his body at an accelerated rate.

 

Regulus’ beautiful big grey eyes moistened. “It doesn’t matter to me,” he said. “I mean, I know you’re with Dumbledore’s little resistance gang --”

 

Remus was piqued at that description, but Regulus misread his expression.

 

“ \-- Don’t bother to answer, I know you’d only be able to lie about it. Just because I’ve been chosen by the Rightful Lord doesn’t mean we can’t … This isn’t about the conflict. This is just, I mean …” Regulus floundered, aware that he was nervously babbling.

 

Remus took hold of the schoolboy’s wrist and turned his arm over, putting the offensive symbol out of sight. While he wasn’t watching, his other hand somehow moved to rest back on Black’s hip - cupping the jut of his pelvis. He looked into those deep eyes, now watching his own face uneasily, then swept his gaze over the handsome features, the shiny, straight hair, down the smooth white neck of the fair creature under his touch.

 

“This would be easier,” Remus mumbled “if you were less …” then because he couldn’t think of any word more appropriate, he repeated himself, “gorgeous.”

 

Why would it matter if they gave themselves this moment, why should this be a love they could not obey? It wasn’t like they would whisper secrets to each other. There was no pillow, there could be no pillow talk. In fact, these situations were improved, in Remus’ experience, by never seeing one another again. Being on different sides of the war made that more likely.

 

Remus sank his mouth onto the soft throat in front of him. He fell forward so that their ribcages once again pushed against each other to breath. Letting go of the tainted arm, he pulled up the skimpy white vest, dropped it to the floor. Dark hair curled sparsely over the stretch between the nipples, gathered under the armpits and curled round the navel, accentuating the alabaster paleness of Regulus’ skin. Remus ran his tongue over one dark, erect nipple.

 

“Doesn’t matter?” Regulus’ voice was wavering and breathy.

 

“Doesn’t seem to,” Remus replied softly against the bare chest.

 

Regulus whimpered and stroked his fingers encouragingly through the older boy’s unruly, golden brown locks. With experienced fingers, Remus went back to work on the stiff fastenings of the new jeans. Regulus’ pelvis pushed forward, thrusting his swollen erection into Remus’ hands.

 

Regulus’ face was mottled with red, his eyes closed and mouth open. He was almost too eager. Panic rushed a quick chill through Remus. He wasn’t keen on de-flowering. It could get messy in more ways than one. Especially if it was his best mate’s baby brother he unwittingly initiated.

 

“What do you want to … How do you like …?” he panted into Regulus’ ear. Hard, warm cartilage brushed his lip. 

 

“Don’t know,” was the ragged answer, which didn’t calm him any. 

 

He now had the zip on Regulus’ fly opened all the way down, but Remus put his hands safely onto the young Death Eater’s shoulders and pulled back to watch him.

 

“What?” Regulus asked, tense. When there was no response, he tried, in a sensual, deep- throated whisper, “What do you want to do? We can do anything.” He stroked a palm down Remus’ chest, grinding his groin into the answering swelling in Remus’ pants. Remus glanced down towards the movement and his breath stopped at the sight of the glistening purple head pushing its way out of Regulus’ jeans.

 

Remus’ palm was against it before he could think to stop himself. He grasped the thick shaft, metal teeth scratching across his knuckles. He was so thrilled by the sensation of holding that flesh that it took him a moment to realise that Regulus wasn’t wearing underwear. That thought sent yet more blood rushing into his already painfully engorged cock.

 

A skinny hand shoved roughly down the front of his own, worn-out jeans, finding space between waistband and skin, then wriggling under the elastic of his underpants. His own voice sounded rasping, alien as he grunted out words he didn’t know were coming: “Shall I fuck you?”

 

In answer, Regulus pushed off both of their exploring hands, to turn round. He took up position: facing the cubicle door, feet apart, arms braced in front of him. Remus yanked down the stiff, blue denim and stood back as he undid his own trousers, admiring the perfect form of the youth before him, naked down to the knees. A few sketched lines of dark hair curved over his lower back. 

 

His buttocks were firm, smooth, white, almost oblong. Like no woman’s ever were. Remus felt between them, his other hand going into his pocket. He swapped hands, tried the other pocket, pushing round past the wand, into the corners. Desperate, he tried the back pockets, knowing full well it wasn’t there.

 

“Shit! I haven’t got any …” He had a sudden vision of his jacket, hanging on the peg by the door: the jacket he’d decided not to wear at the last minute. The jacket with the lube in the inside pocket.

 

His feet skittered forward. He was being pulled by the fabric of his T-shirt. Regulus reached back and pulled out Remus’ wand.

 

“I know a …” he rasped impatiently, then muttered an incantation. There were many occasions afterwards when Remus wished he’d paid more attention, but he was too distracted to commit the words of the spell to memory.

 

A substance - body temperature, slimy - coated Remus’ fingers, oozed its way over his prick and, he found when he got himself back to it, Regulus’ anus. Remus stopped worrying about whether his partner was experienced. Gratefully he caressed the boy’s face.

 

He rubbed his slick finger-tips over the enticing puckering, then pushed in. His movement was met by the flesh under him, pushing back, intensifying the intrusion. His finger was encased in moist, soft warmth. After only a couple of thrusts, he added another finger. He pushed, wiggled, scissored for as long as he could bear to. Regulus twisted his head, sucked in one of Remus’ fingers and bit down on it.

 

Remus groaned, withdrew the fingers of his other hand from the young, tight arse and replaced them with his prick. He stroked Regulus’ erection and shoved in hard. After that there was no other sensation, just the hot, red, dark pulsing round his cock as he repeatedly pulled back and rammed in, pistoning furiously. He had to piece together the rest of the experience afterwards from the tooth marks all over one hand and the come drying on the back of the other.

 

Pace and heat built steadily until he climaxed. His head felt like it was exploding along with his groin, scattering stardust through the darkness behind his eyelids. Every nerve-ending tingled and he collapsed in a mass of goosebumps over the other man’s sweat-slicked bare back.

 

The two teenagers hardly looked at each other as they replaced their clothing. They exchanged brief nods of thanks before Remus slipped out of the cubicle. 

 

 


	4. OF DARKNESS AND DISMAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regulus Black is in trouble, so he goes to find his brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by David Bowie's song _Lady Stardust_ on _The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and The Spiders From Mars._

The bare branches looked as though they had been sprayed silver. The freezing fog had painted rime onto everything in the tiny front garden. Sirius was too cold to appreciate any of it, not even the delicately decorated spider’s web hanging from the wooden gate.

He marched through it, stamping on the crunchy path to keep the blood moving round his feet, while he searched his pockets for the front door key. He stood still for a moment to tear off a glove with his teeth. 

That’s when he heard the faint: “Sibbus?”

His brain shifted into autopilot, slipped away from the past decade and a half and he replied, “Rellus?”

He was answered with a “Shush,“ from somewhere close to the ground.

Wary, Sirius stared straight ahead, moving his hand from one pocket to another, even though it now held the key he had been seeking. He waited.

The soft voice came up from the flower bed again. 

“You alone?” it asked.

“Uh huh,” Sirius confirmed, without moving his lips.

“Empty house?” the urgent whisperer checked.

“Mmm,” Sirius assented, unlocking the door.

He hesitated for a fraction of a moment longer that usual and felt the soft brush of fabric across his shins. Then he stepped inside his home. He closed all the curtains and checked the doors before casting _Lumos_.

Had it not been for the use of the nursery pet name, Sirius wouldn’t have recognised the bedraggled creature squatting on his rug as his brother. The eyes were the same grey as his, but lack-lustre and bloodshot, set in deep, dark hollows. His skin was grey. Stubble covered most of the lower half of his face and his hair was cut close to his scalp - but it was the right deep black colour.

“What’s going on?” Sirius asked.

Regulus hugged himself, then croaked, “Left the Death Eaters.”

“Great,” Sirius replied, though it didn’t look like it was suiting Regulus. “When did you last eat?” Regulus shrugged his bony shoulders. The shock was wearing off and Sirius registered the smell. It wasn’t good. “Look, sit on the settee. Get comfy. I’ll erm …”

He wandered towards the kitchen area on the other side of the room. He didn’t know what they had in the cupboards.

Regulus pushed himself up off the floor, slowly, painfully, then lurched towards the nearest seat, muttering, “Had something to do. Done now. Just thought I’d like to see you. Last time.” He collapsed onto the cushions and emitted a moan of pleasure. They had been raised in luxury, cosseted with comfort, yet now he was responding to an under-stuffed secondhand couch as if it were the pinnacle of pleasure. He let his head fall back and he closed his eyes. 

“Have you even had anything to drink?” Sirius checked.

His baby brother’s only response was a secret smile to himself. Sirius brought him a glass of water anyway, then went back to slicing ham and grating cheese onto some fairly hard bread. He pointed his wand at the kettle.

Regulus put the tap water to his chapped lips, then gave a little mewl of pleasure as he sipped it. He winced when he swallowed, but the pain made him smile to himself again. 

When Sirius brought over the rough sandwich, Regulus asked, “You live on your own?”

“Got a housemate, but he’s away tonight.”

“And last night.” Regulus nodded. “Been watching.”

“You were out there in this weather last night?”

Regulus nibbled cautiously at the edge of the bread. Swallowing seemed painful again. He sipped more water. Then he said, “Can’t be too careful.”

“He’s safe anyway. Trustworthy.”

Regulus shook his head. “Trust no-one. There’s a mole in your Order. Could be you for all I know.”

Rather than addressing how Regulus knew about the secret Order of the Phoenix, Sirius asked, “So what happens when you leave the Death Eaters, then? How does that work?”

“They hunt me down and kill me.”

Sirius didn’t know how to respond to that. He just watched in silence as Regulus worked his painful way through the food. He wished that they had had a tin of soup in - or that he could cook. He relied on Remus far too much for that sort of thing. He missed his company, too. The cottage had been a dead place the night before. He had had to turn the radio up loud just to fill some air. It couldn’t be helped, they were too close to too many people here and there was nowhere secure enough for the transformations.

“Been to see the parents?” Sirius asked eventually.

Shaking his head, Regulus muttered, “First place they’ll look.”

“I’ll talk to some people, get you a safe place --” Sirius began.

“Won’t work. Just endanger others. I’ll have to go soon. Not safe. Just it’s been years since I saw you.” 

The kettle whistled to announce that it had boiled and Sirius went to make a pot of tea.

“I saw you a couple of years ago, actually,” he said. “Went to see your band.”

“The John Bull gig,” Regulus confirmed, his eyes closed again.

“You knew?” 

The sharpness of his brother’s tone made Regulus straighten up and look at him. 

“Suspected,” he corrected. “Recognised one of your little Gryffindor pals.”

“You were alright,” Sirius conceded. It was more than he had admitted at the time.

“We were great.” Regulus stretched out, smiling to himself nostalgically. “The sound levels weren’t perfect but I was fucking brilliant!”

Sirius smiled, too. The arrogance was easier to enjoy when it came from this broken man than it had been from the glittering, talented, attention-magnet he had been on stage.

“You were alright,” he repeated.

Sirius brought over mugs and the teapot. It was only when he began to pour that he remembered.

“Shit! Sorry, we’re out of milk. I don’t take it.”

“Nor do I.”

“That’s weird. I don’t know anyone else who drinks naked tea.”

Regulus chuckled and opened one sleepy eye: “Black tea,” he joked.

Sirius barked a laugh. “That must be it!”

“One cup then I go,” Regulus murmured, though he was clearly drifting off to sleep.

“Bollocks! You need a good night’s sleep in a proper bed and there’s one going spare here tonight.” After a quick thought and a sniff, Sirius added, “You’ll need a bath first.”

“That bad, huh?” Regulus asked. Then he forced himself to sit upright and gave his brother a determined stare. “I can’t stay. Anyone found with me will be in danger. I’m dead anyway. It hardly matters if I smell like it’s already happened.”

“I like a duel with a Death Eater, I do. One night. We’re well warded. Remember that game we used to play with the coins? I’ve got a Wizard Chess set somewhere, I might even let you beat me if you’re dying. What happened to my tin Valkyries collection after I left? Your hair looks better short. You can borrow my razor. Shall I put some Firewhiskey in this?”

Without waiting for any replies, Sirius leapt to his feet and retrieved the only thing in the kitchen which he could ever remember where it was kept. He poured a good slug of the alcohol into each of their mugs. Regulus gasped and shuddered after his first mouthful, but took the second readily enough, then said, “I forgot you always get your own way, big brother.”


	5. FROM SHADOWS TO WATCH THIS CREATURE FAIR

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus finds someone he recognises in his bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by David Bowie's song _Lady Stardust_ on _The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and The Spiders From Mars._

The winter sun glared low, bounced off frost, straight through the window and onto Sirius’ sensitive eyelids. He couldn’t remember going to bed, nor why he hadn’t closed the curtains. He felt as though all moisture had been leeched from his body and his throat had been filled with Bowtruckles; he tried to open his eyes, but there was some form of burning hex in them.

 

He groaned and tried to sit up, but a bolt of pain shot through his head and his stomach tried to regurgitate itself.

 

“You’re supposed to be at work,” came a familiar voice from the doorway.

 

“Moony?” Sirius croaked. “No. You’re not here, you’ve gone to thingy’s doodad.”

 

“I came back. It’s mid-morning. Why aren’t you at work?”

 

Sirius waved a dismissive hand. It was a terrible job and he didn’t care if he lost it. He was the cleaner at the central Owl Office, which meant spending all day directing brooms towards owl droppings. He had only taken it in the hopes that one of his mother’s friends would find out and she would be mortified. It was even more boring than he had expected.

 

“It’s OK, I Owled in sick for you. You want some Hangover Potion?”

 

Sirius tried nodding, but it hurt too much. He felt the mattress sink as Remus sat on it and blindly thrust out a hand. A cool flask was pressed into it.

 

After a few sips he was able to croak, “Thanks. For telling work. And the potion.” He cautiously peeled his eyes open, sipped again and asked, “How was Godric’s Hollow? How they doing?”

 

“It was OK. Prongs ran with me. Usual bruises this morning. You should see Lily, she looks like she swallowed Slughorn! Baby won’t be long now. He can kick some, too. Strong. James reckons it’s his fist not his foot and he’s catching snitches!”

 

“Like to see them,” Sirius muttered. He was a better colour now. He looked like he might not throw up.

 

Remus let him finish the flask, paused to let the potion fully take effect, then judged the time was right.

 

“You got me a treat?”

 

Sirius looked at him, confused.

 

Remus reworded, “You left something tasty in my bed?”

 

Remembrance and realisation crept amusingly over Sirius’ face, followed by a wariness.

 

“Ah! No!” he explained, “No, that’s Regulus --”

 

“I know who it is.”

 

“He’s left the Death Eaters. He’s on the run. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

 

“I certainly don’t mind.”

 

“Moony!” Sirius reprimanded.

 

Remus shrugged and donned an innocent expression. “What?”

 

“Fuck’s sake don’t try anything on with him.” Sirius winced as he swallowed down the dregs of the potion and missed his friend’s petulant expression. “He wouldn’t appreciate it,” he added, lying back with his eyes closed. 

 

“Well he did last time!” Remus snapped.

 

Sirius flung back the covers and leapt from the bed. “Fuck! Lupin! Is there anyone you haven’t had?” he yelled. He paused briefly as they both realised that he was fully dressed, right down to the shoes. Then he stomped angrily down the stairs.

 

Remus bit his lip regretfully. Then he changed his mind. He decided that actually he didn’t regret copping off with Regulus and therefore he didn’t regret telling Sirius about it and that his housemate was the one with the problem. He let his own fury propel him down to the ground floor where he found Sirius frowning and pacing.

 

“Oh, look!” Remus began coldly, “It’s the very modern Sirius Orion Black. He’s so tolerant and liberal that he doesn’t even have a problem with his housemate being queer,” he let the rage cut through the sarcasm as he shouted: “just as long as he doesn’t actually have sex with any men!”

 

“I don’t have a problem with you screwing any men!” the dark-haired man shouted back. “I just don’t see why you have to screw EVERY man!”

 

They stood still, glaring at each other for a moment, before Sirius sank down onto a kitchen chair and asked, in a flat voice, “When?”

 

 

“When we went to see his band play,” Remus replied, annoyed at himself for feeling ashamed again.

 

Sirius stared at him, then turned to the wall to ask, “How long was that - what, a year? - before you told us you were into blokes?”

 

“More like eight months.”

 

“So my Dark-loving, Muggle-hating, Death-Eating brother knew a whole year before your best friends did?”

 

“It wasn’t like that.” Remus moved into the kitchen, trying to occupy himself by emptying the fridge into a frying pan. “I didn’t exactly have to make a thought-out declaration --”

 

“I think he might have worked it out,” Sirius cut him off with a sneer.

 

There was a tense silence during which Sirius laid his arms out on the table and rested his head on them, while Remus crashed about with teacups and utensils.

 

Sirius muttered without raising his head, “So that means my baby brother’s bent too?”

 

“I would say so,” Remus replied tersely.

 

“You know him better than I do, then,” Sirius stated, sounding sorry for himself.

 

Remus cracked eggs into a saucepan and waved his wand over them, before folding his arms and staring out of the window. “Look, I told you I’d been with a couple of men. I had to make sure. I had to get my own head round it. I didn’t know how you lot were going to take it.”

 

Sirius rubbed his hands over his face as he said, “You didn’t trust us.”

 

“Well, look how Wormtail’s been. We’ve hardly seen him since.”

 

“That’s not why. It’s me he doesn’t like.” Sirius sniffed. “Smells good.”

 

“Well, you never bother to eat properly when I’m not here. I’ll take him up some.”

 

“He’s been sleeping rough. Hiding out. They’re going to kill him.” 

 

Sirius finally stirred himself to do something useful: getting out cutlery, brown sauce and juice. He set a tray for one and two places at the table. Then he stared fixedly down at what he’d done as he asked, “Wasn’t it weird?”

 

Remus looked over briefly from his plating up, but he couldn’t read his friend’s expression so he returned to concentrating on his wand, directing the food out of the pans on top of the stove. 

 

“What?” he asked.

 

Sirius muttered, “Wasn’t it weird? I mean, even I can see that he looks like me. I would have thought that it might have been …” he couldn’t think of an adequate synonym. “Weird,” he repeated.

 

Remus pretended to be focussing on the flying bacon while he thought up an answer. Eventually he said, “Didn’t see much of his face. He had his back to me most of the time.”

 

He levitated one of the full plates onto the place nearest to Sirius, the other two onto the tray. 

 

Chucking a knife and fork from the table onto the tray, Sirius grunted, “Don’t forget the silencing charm.” 

 

They faced each other as Remus floated the tray towards himself, asking, “What?”

 

“For the condemned man’s last meal,” Sirius explained, sitting down with his back to his best friend.

 

Remus’ colour rose with embarrassment. “He might not want to.”

 

“But you’re going to offer, right?”

 

“Yeah,” Remus admitted.

 

Sirius picked up his cutlery. “You should. He deserves it.” He stabbed a mushroom. “I just don’t want to hear it.”

 

Remus directed the laden tray up the narrow staircase. He opened his bedroom door. The curtains were closed and he peered across the darkness at the figure in his bed.

 

Regulus was still asleep. His steady breathing filled the tiny room. Remus stepped over the threshold. He was changed, but not unrecognisably. The hair was the most noticeable difference. His head was a good shape, though, he could take the closer cut. 

 

Putting the tray down on the floor, Remus moved closer. The shape rising and falling under the blankets seemed thinner. He looked older than he had done in the pub, more than two years older. His skin was dry, flaking slightly under the nose. There was a puffiness around his eyes and his cheeks were more hollow. He was still beautiful, though, Remus decided, as he crept over to the bed. The skin was the same alabaster white as it had been on stage. Remus realised with a jolt that he had been wearing makeup then and he wasn’t now.

 

As the werewolf watched him, a deep crease appeared in the middle of Regulus’ forehead and his face collapsed into an expression on intense agony.


	6. YES HE WAS ALRIGHT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius and his brother find they have someone in common.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **The story so far:** The Marauders went to watch Regulus and his glam rock band playing in a pub and Remus seduced Regulus in the toilets after the gig. A year or so later, Regulus ran to Sirius when he was fleeing the death eaters. Sirius' housemate, Remus came home from a trip to Godric's Hollow to find a tasty treat in his bed. Just when things were about to get interesting, though, Regulus collapsed in agony ...
> 
> Inspired by David Bowie's song _Lady Stardust_ on _The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and The Spiders From Mars._

Sirius pretended that he wasn’t listening, wasn’t waiting. He wondered what time it was: he’d be better off at work, maybe he could still manage a half day. He stopped eating, feeling sick. He heard silence. It was driving him mad now, not knowing whether that was the silence of a Silencing Charm or the silence of nothing going on. He couldn’t understand it. It was bad enough all those nameless men - some of them middle-aged even - but how could Remus fancy Regulus?

 

Then he heard the scream of agony and he knew that he’d been listening to nothing. He was half-way up the stairs before he wondered what he would find, whether he was going to be intruding, but he threw open the door anyway.

 

Regulus was thrashing and screaming, Remus, standing next to the bed, looked to be in shock. He turned wide eyes up to Sirius, shaking slightly.

 

“Get a Pain-numbing Potion!” Sirius screamed at him, grabbing his brother’s shoulders, trying to judge what was wrong.

 

“No point!” Regulus ground through closed teeth. His face was in constant movement, closing in on itself. “Don’t work,” he hissed. Sweat shone all over his grey skin. With a violent twitch he came free of Sirius’ grip. Sirius caught a flailing hand and held it between both of his own. He sat down on the bed, determined to be there even if there was nothing else he could do.

 

He felt Remus standing behind him, heard his ragged breathing occasionally, although most of the time the only thing any of them heard was Regulus’ agonised screaming. Regulus’ left arm worked its way free of the blankets and it flipped over. 

 

Remus made an “Oh” sound at the moment they both realised what it was that was torturing the young man in the bed. The Dark Mark was no longer a static tattoo. It writhed and smoked, changing colour from black to green to red. Around it, the soft pale skin bruised, puckered, oozed pus and flaked off.

 

Remus reached over Sirius’ shoulder and took hold of Regulus’ left hand, clasping it in the way Sirius already clasped the right. They both kept their attention fixed on Regulus’ face and attempted to whisper soothing coos through the demented screeches for as long as they lasted. Afterwards, none of them could have told how long that was. Time had lost meaning. All they knew was the relief when the intensity of the sounds began to wane and finally the suffering calmed.

 

Regulus looked up at the two men sitting on the bed with him. There was still a tension in the skin round his eyes, but he managed to force a smile as he looked from one concerned face to the other.

 

“Thanks,” he panted. “I’ve tried potions and spells and there’s nothing powerful enough.” He peered at Remus, then smiled slightly to himself and murmured, “It is you. Thought it might be you.”

 

Remus, staring at the skin of the lower left arm as it slowly faded and stilled, asked, “What does it mean?”

 

“Means he’s got a spare moment. Might as well spend it tormenting me. Punishment. Guess he’s the only one can work through the Mark. Or he’d have a minion on it full time. Won’t be for long. They’ll kill me soon.”

 

“He?” Sirius checked, already pretty sure of the answer.

 

“Not Be Named,” Regulus confirmed, resting his head back on the pillow and closing his eyes. He was biting his lower lip, but the only sound he made now was regular, controlled breathing.

 

Sirius took a deep breath himself. He sat up straight, but kept hold of his brother’s hand. He would wait for Regulus to be the one to pull away. He looked up at the window, but the curtains were drawn. There was nothing to see. He spotted the breakfast tray on the chest of drawers.

 

“Don’t suppose you’re hungry now,” he said.

 

“Starving,” was the surprising answer.

 

Remus leapt off the bed, glad of something to do, and started to cast warming charms on the food and drinks. Regulus opened his eyes and watched, then grinned at his big brother, pulling his hand back and sitting himself up. 

 

“Can’t stay long,” he said. “I’ll draw them here, endanger you two. Eat and leave.”

 

“Pretty much what you said last night,” Sirius scoffed, standing up.

 

Regulus accepted his breakfast from Remus and tucked in, answering, “Thanks for the sleep and eat and drink and bath. Better able to face it. But I am going to leave within the hour.”

 

“It’s cold out,” Sirius warned.

 

“We’ve got great wards, and DADA skills …” Remus added.

 

Sirius interrupted, “Told him all that last night.”

 

When Regulus had finished with it, Sirius took the tray from him and went downstairs. Splashing water and chinking crockery could be heard in the bedroom. Remus looked at Regulus’ raw-skinned left arm.

 

“Still hurts, doesn’t it?” he asked.

 

Regulus nodded curtly. “All the time. Just have to take my mind off it.” He reached a hand up to Remus’ chin and held his head still. He stared at Remus’ face, his eyes roaming over all the features, drinking them in. “That should do it,” he said with a strange smile.

 

With a knowing look, Remus pointed to the door with his wand. As it closed and various charms wrapped themselves round its edges, he leaned down to the younger man and, staring into his eyes, said, “I think we can do better than that.”

 

He dropped his wand to the floor and took Regulus’ pale face in his hands. He had just a moment to register the surprise, the pleasure and the need there, before pressing their mouths together.

 

Regulus kissed back hard, thrusting his tongue into Remus’ mouth, scraping his teeth across Remus’ lips. Remus ran his hand down the thin neck, across the bony shoulders and down his chest, undoing buttons, removing the hindrance of fabric. Regulus muttered against his mouth, “Never thought I’d ever again …” 

 

Regulus’ torso was covered in welts and scratches, some of the red marks looked like human bite marks. Where he wasn’t bruised or lacerated, his skin was almost transparent. But his shape was much the same as it had been when he had swayed gracefully and confidently on that little stage in that little pub. His body hair was still dark and curled and from the mass of it at his groin rose his swollen, purple cock. Remus lay down next to him.

 

He was hard now too and he pushed against Regulus’ thigh as he brought their mouths back together. His hands ran over bare flesh, one hand caressing everywhere, the other homing in on the stiff, warm flesh that thrust up into his touch. Strong arms gripped his sides and he was lifted onto the naked body. Butterfly kisses nipped down his cheek and Regulus murmured again, “Never thought I’d ever again …” before sinking his teeth into Remus’ neck.

 

Heat rose between them as they ground into each other. Remus undid his own trousers and Regulus pushed up his sweater. There was something about the scrabbling of fingernails at his sides that Remus wasn’t used to. But then, Remus wasn’t used to doing this lying down in a bed, let alone his own bed. He ignored his misgivings.

 

The mouth that had been working on his neck pulled away, there was a rush of air and his sweater was pulled right off. Then: “Salazar! I just fell out with the Dark Lord, what’s your excuse?”

 

Remus grabbed the sweater to his scarred chest. He never took his top off, that was what was wrong. He got off the bed, crossed the room. It was being at home, being comfortable, that was what had lulled him into forgetting. He never took his top off.

 

“No!” 

 

He ignored Regulus’ cry behind him and strode to the door. He’d just transformed, his skin was in bits. What had he been thinking? He hadn’t even had a chance to have a proper look himself, didn’t know how bad it was this month. It was always bad though. He had felt the aches this morning, he’d bashed into some big things while he was a wolf. He zipped up his trousers, reached for the door handle.

 

Strong hands took hold of his upper arms and pulled him back against a hard chest.

 

“I’m sorry,” Regulus whispered, “no questions, no lies. Shouldn’t have said anything. Sorry. Come back. I need this. My last time, please. I want to be with someone beautiful for my last time. Want you.”

 

The grip lessened and arms wrapped gently round Remus’ waist. Remus didn’t move away, but he didn’t lean into the other body either. Regulus brought his mouth right up to Remus’ ear, letting his breath and his tongue play over the sensitive cartilage as he spoke:

 

“You’ve been so good to me. I love the feel of you. Like last time. One of my favourite memories. Don’t go. I’ll be good. Won’t ask. Need you.”

 

Downstairs, Sirius was pacing, listening and trying to find anything else to do. He could just leave, go for a walk, go to the pub. He didn’t dare, though. What if Regulus got tortured by his Mark again? What if a band of Death Eaters broke in to kill him? What if it was all a ploy and he was still one of them and he was going to attack Remus? What if that was what he was doing now, under cover of the Silencing Charm?

 

The washing up was done, the surfaces wiped and Sirius had cleaned the stove for the first time. He had picked up the Prophet, but his eyes wouldn’t stay on the page. He strode across the small room and back again. If only he knew something about gardening. All he knew was how to mow the lawn and that would be daft in January. He tried not to think about what might be going on upstairs. He couldn’t manage to think about anything else. He couldn’t understand it.

 

He threw himself back onto the lumpy couch and his head tipped back of its own accord. He found himself looking at the ceiling. He tried not to watch it, tried not to look for signs that plaster was dropping, that the floor above it was bouncing up and down. He didn’t want to know what they were doing. He just couldn’t understand how Remus could fancy Regulus.

 

Remus had some strange capacity for finding men attractive, apparently found all men attractive enough to fuck. Except one.

 

In his frustration, Sirius held his head in his hands and said it out loud, “How can he fancy Regulus, and not me?”


	7. I SMILED SADLY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regulus enjoys a tasty last supper of Remus before he goes out to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by David Bowie's song _Lady Stardust_ on _The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and The Spiders From Mars._

“You’ve been so good to me. I love the feel of you. Like last time. One of my favourite memories. Don’t go. I’ll be good. Won’t ask. Need you,” Regulus whispered, his hot breath travelling over Remus’ skin.

“This would be easier,” Remus mumbled “if you were less gorgeous.” He dropped his sweater and allowed himself to be nudged gently towards the bedroom door.

Soft, gentle nibbles ran down his back, causing the most delicious shivering. Practiced hands moved to his fly and soon he could feel the stiff shaft of Regulus’ erection against his bare bottom. He put his arms out in front of him and spread his palms against the painted wood of the door. He twisted round and caught the condemned man’s earlobe in his mouth. He sucked. He stepped out of his trousers. He pushed backwards with his hips. He enjoyed the sensation of a naked body moving against his.

Then it was gone. He opened his eyes, not sure when he had closed them. Regulus was searching around the bed.

“Your wand?” he asked.

Remus had to clear his throat before he answered, “On the drawers.”

Regulus grabbed it and scurried back, his gaze taking in the naked man in position ready for him. His enjoyment of the sight was unmistakable. He hummed with joy, gripping Remus’ face in one hand and bringing their mouths together. With his other hand - the one holding the wand, he held Remus by the hip and drew their groins together too.

He muttered the same lubricating charm he had used in the John Bull toilets. Remus only caught a couple of words and gave up on trying to memorise them. This time it was his arse that was filled with stickiness. Regulus entered him with a slick finger.

Remus’ teeth slammed together, narrowly missing Regulus’ tongue. The younger man pulled back and laughed, then moved his kisses down to the safety of Remus’ taut neck. Remus thrust back, fucking himself on one, then two, then three digits. He growled with need.

His need was answered by an oily hand on his cock and an oily cock in his arse. They both sweated and grunted and swore, slamming against each other, gaining speed and force, stimulated but unsatisfied, shoving, grinding, stroking, biting and finally, to the accompaniment of screams of ecstasy, simultaneously ejaculating.

Covered in goose-bumps, their spent bodies fell to the floor. After a few deep breaths, they looked into each other’s faces.

“Phew!” Remus gasped.

“Thanks,” Regulus panted.

Remus chuckled. “The same,” he replied.

It didn’t take long for the carpet to feel uncomfortably itchy. Regulus staggered to his feet and pulled Remus up to standing. In a few steps they reached the bed and fell onto it. They wrapped arms round each other and pulled the blankets haphazardly over themselves.

Grey eyes scanned Remus’ scarred body and Regulus declared it, “Just bloody fantastic!”

Remus played his fingertips over the erstwhile Death Eater’s skull, saying, regretfully, “Your hair.”

“Not practical,” Regulus answered, but he pouted too.

“Was so …” Remus didn’t finish the sentence, but Regulus nodded agreement.

“At least you saw it,” he sighed. “You can remember it.”

“Long, straight, soft, deep black.”

“Remember me. Please.”

“Always,” Remus replied softly. He covered the tiny space between them and kissed the full lips tenderly. After a moment he asked, “Where’s your wand?”

Regulus grimaced. “Too traceable. Dropped it in a lake.” Unaccountably he sniggered at his own words.

“How will you defend yourself?”

“Couldn’t anyway. Not once they find me. It’ll all be over in a flash. They’ll find me a whole lot sooner if I start doing magic. Been living like a Muggle.”

Icy terror ran through Remus and he choked out, “But you did. The charm. You did the --”

“ _Lubricus_! Oh fuck!” Regulus cried out, realising. “I’ve got to go!” He sat up and started scrabbling about for his clothing. “Shit! I hope they don’t come here! Merlin, I’m so sorry!”

“Don’t be sorry!” Remus demanded. “Not for anything.”

He took hold of the panicking young man and gave him one last, deep, calming kiss before cleaning him up and helping him to dress.

Regulus rushed down the stairs, nearly running into Sirius.

“Woah!” the taller man cried out. “Where’s the fire?”

“I’ve got to go!” Regulus explained. “Thanks for everything.”

Sirius took hold of him by his skinny shoulders. “Wait. That’s it? You haven’t even got a cloak. Take some food with you. Is this the last time?”

“I really have to go!” Regulus protested, trying to wriggle free.

Remus bounded down the stairs then, nearly toppling into the two brothers. He was dressed, but flushed and his hair stuck to his forehead. He righted himself and sprinted into the kitchen, waving his wand around, summoning provisions and a rucksack to put them in.

“Take a couple of minutes,” he panted.

“I really don’t think I can,” Regulus replied. “I don’t want them coming here. You two --”

“Can look after ourselves,” Sirius said firmly. He tentatively let go of Regulus and backed across the room to the hatstand. He pulled off a thick, hooded cloak, gloves and a scarf.

“No point in warming up a corpse!” Regulus protested, but put them on anyway. “Thanks big brother. I wish we’d had more time together. And thanks for … everything. Food, bed, bath, you know.” He looked slyly over towards Remus who was fastening the bag. “You never used to share your toys.”

Before Sirius could come up with a reply, Regulus had clasped him in a quick but tight hug, then crossed the small room to hug Remus and take the rucksack from him. Then he darted out of the front door.

The two friends dashed to the window and shoved back the curtains to watch the slight figure hurrying away. He soon disappeared behind a hedge and Remus ran up the stairs, closely followed by Sirius as soon as he realised why.

They could see a lot further from Remus’ bedroom window. They stared out in silence, watching Regulus Black’s final exit from their lives. When he was completely hidden by the dark, twisted trunks of a pair of yews, Sirius sank down onto the bed. Remus fixed his gaze on the spot where Regulus was not going to reappear.

After a couple of minutes, Sirius jumped up again, glaring resentfully at the bed. Remus watched him ruefully, not bothering to tell him that they hadn’t done it there. Sirius moved away, walking to stand, ironically, in the doorway.

“It wasn’t weird?” he muttered.

Remus sighed, suspecting that his best friend was just avoiding thinking about his only brother’s imminent death. “Do you want me to tell you what it was like?” he asked warningly.

“No,” Sirius answered too quickly. “I just don’t get it.” He started to stomp down the stairs. “How come you can fancy him and not me?”

Remus raised his eyes in exasperation. He chose now to suffer from hurt pride? “Padfoot!” he snapped. “You’re straight!” Then he slammed the door and threw himself against it to weep.


	8. OH HOW I SIGHED WHEN THEY ASKED IF I KNEW HIS NAME

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus and Sirius receive news of Regulus. It's not good news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by David Bowie's song Lady Stardust on The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and The Spiders From Mars.

Two days later, Remus woke in a panic. It was nearly ten o’clock and he had to be in Diagon Alley at half past. He couldn’t afford to be late for this meeting. He had a reputation for unreliability already.

He took free-lance work, because no permanent contract would allow him to have three days off every month without questions being asked. Oh, and he might be a bit unpredictable for a week or so before, and knackered, possibly even limping, after it. Yes, it would be around the time of the full moon, but don’t read anything into that.

So he took what he could - mostly research projects and one-off marketing commissions with a little bit of private tutoring thrown in. He had written a few pieces for the Quibbler, but he doubted Xenophilius would use him again. Each bizarre phenomenon he was charged with describing had been more difficult to take seriously than the one before. His cynicism and irony had leaked through his prose until finally he had ended an article on The Resurrection Stone with the sentence: “Why not keep an eye out for an unbeatable wand and an everlasting Invisibility cloak while you’re at it and maybe you can take over the world?” He regretted that now; he was running out of money.

He was meeting Florean Fortescue to discuss writing his new menu. It had been out of the blue and Remus suspected that a member of the Order had suggested him. He didn’t mind, he was too poor to be proud. If he got this job then not only would it mean a week’s contract, he would also be required to taste a scoop of every flavour of ice cream in order to describe it accurately. He was looking forward to that nearly as much as his fee.

He checked his robes were clean. Clean he could manage, smart was beyond him these days. He ran a comb through his tousled hair, wondering whether he would have time for a quick cup of tea. He raced down the stairs to what should have been the empty kitchen.

Except that Sirius was sitting there staring into space.

“You’re late for work,” Remus said.

“Not going,” Sirius replied in a flat voice. He pushed the Daily Prophet across the table without looking at it.

Remus’ guts clenched. He wished a Full Body Bind could stop him from taking the couple of steps to cross the room.

‘DEATH EATERS CLAIM ONE OF THEIR OWN’ was the headline. The picture was of a lonely marsh a day’s walk away from where they lived. A Dark Mark hung in the sky. His eyes grew damp at the edges. He tried to read the article but it blurred up, leaving odd words floating in and out of focus: ‘hex’, ‘Lord’, ‘Pure’, ‘three am’. Then the crucial line achieved a cruelly sharp focus: ‘believed to be that of Regulus Black, a former …’ Remus closed his eyes.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he croaked. He was all out of original phrases.

He was surprised to find warm arms wrapping around his shoulders. “You OK?” Sirius asked softly.

Remus nodded and sniffed. “You?”

“I wasn’t the one who --”

“He’s your brother.”

“Was,” Sirius corrected in a tight voice.

They stood still and silent for a few seconds, paralysed by everything unsaid. Then Remus pulled a handkerchief out of his sleeve and Sirius took a step backwards, away from him, breaking their contact. Remus felt colder, but it was easier to breathe. He wiped his cheeks and blew his nose. When he looked up Sirius was glaring at the front door.

“I owled work that I was sick.”

“You sure that’s …?” Remus began hesitantly. “I mean, what are you going to do, mope around here all day on your own? Maybe if you kept busy …?”

“And have every second customer ask me if I’m related to that dead Death Eater in the paper?”

“How would they know?”

“I wear a name tag.”

There was no answer to that, so Remus just patted his friend awkwardly on the shoulder. He didn’t know what to say. There was a distance between that had never been there before, but Remus couldn’t work out how to bridge it. They had barely spoken since Regulus had left and not once about him.

“I‘ll be as quick as I can,” he promised. “The ice cream thing.” It sounded too trivial. “Can’t be late.”

Over two hours later he returned, feeling emotionally pummelled. Fortescue had insisted on a guided tour of the premises and its environs, which had managed to involve passing the time of day with every potential punter who walked near the shop. He had been asked repeatedly whether he remembered Regulus from school (“You look to be about the right age”), told that it was a terrible shame really, that it was good riddance to bad rubbish, that it just went to show what happened when you mixed with that sort and had had several conspiracy theories confided in him.

A red-eyed Sirius greeted him with, “You were right, Moony, I should have gone in. I’ve been driving myself mad.”

“No, you were right, Pads,” Remus admitted, waving his wand tiredly towards the kettle. “It’s all anyone’s talking about.”

He felt like he’d spent all morning denying any knowledge of the youth whose naked body had been pressed against his only days before. He had almost expected to hear roosters crowing.

“Sod the kettle!” Sirius snapped wearily, countering the Heating charm. “We have to get smashed now.”

He walked backwards towards the couch and Remus noticed the bottle and the glasses set out ready for them. He got closer to read the label.

“Bold Nagden’s?” he asked, sinking down beside his best friend.

“We can’t afford the real stuff. You get that job?”

Remus nodded. It didn’t seem important any more.

“Just as well,” Sirius muttered, pouring out two Firewhiskeys. He sniffed his and pulled a face. Just as he was about drink, though, Remus put a hand up. Raising his glass he said quietly, “To Regulus!”


	9. ALL NIGHT LONG

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drinking to Regulus - Sirius and Remus grieve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING:** Drunkenness. More Angst.
> 
> Inspired by David Bowie's song _Lady Stardust_ on _The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and The Spiders From Mars._

When he saw how quickly Sirius downed the first glass, Remus realised they were in for a proper session. As Sirius refilled and he sipped his first, he set about preparing the hangover potions. When the two flasks were ready and sitting up on the work-tops, he took his empty glass back to his friend for the next one.

Sirius filled both glasses - his being nearly empty again - but stopped Remus before he began to drink. This time it was he who said, “To Regulus” and Remus who echoed him. Then they drank.

It truly was hideous stuff, a harsh burn and a putrid taste with fumes that seemed to strip the insides of the nose during the swallow. It was what they both needed.

“Do you think it hurt?” Sirius asked.

“What?”

“When they, you know. When he … In the paper …”

“Shouldn’t think so. One of their own. Quick flash of green.”

“But his …” Sirius pointed to his own forearm, “that hurt.”

Remus took a deep drink and winced. “Sure you want to talk about …?” He certainly wasn’t drunk enough yet.

His friend didn’t answer, just raised his glass and declared, “Death Eaters are bastards!” before emptying it. He looked pointedly at Remus’ half-full drink and said, “Hurry up.”

“Just top it up.”

They toasted Regulus again and this time Remus added, “He really was beautiful.” As he heard himself he realised that the alcohol must be having an effect. Sirius just snorted, so he carried on, “When he was singing. His arms up. He knew how to do that …” he found himself filling up, his throat closing over, so he stopped.

“He was alright,” Sirius grunted.

Remus laughed, stopping the welling tears before they started. “If he was only alright,” he said, “then how come you were so jealous?”

“What?”

“You wanted to see him make a prat of himself and then he was brilliant and you hated it. That’s why you were in such a huff!”

Sirius sneered, and said sarcastically, “Oh yeah, I really want to ponce around in girls’ gloves and a wig --”

“Wasn’t a wig,” Remus corrected.

“Bloody hell! So he walked round school all the time with it like that? Merlin!”

Remus splayed his fingers, tried to recall the exact feel of those long locks through his fingers, but couldn’t.

Sirius watched him, an oddly serious look on his face. “So, do you think my brother was as big a tart as you are?”

Stung, Remus glowered at him without replying.

“Oh come on! How many men do you reckon you‘ve had?”

“What is it with you lately? What’s your problem?” Remus muttered into his glass, his golden brown fringe falling over his face.

Sirius stared at him for a moment, then took a deep drink and persevered. “How many though?”

“Mind your own business!” Remus snapped. “How many girls have you screwed?”

“Eight.” Sirius admitted promptly. 

Surprised, Remus looked over at him then. “OK,” he admitted, “I can beat that.”

“And I knew all their names, first names and surnames.”

Remus concentrated on drinking, on not showing any emotion. Why did he let Sirius make him feel ashamed like this? So, he liked nameless fucks? So what? What did it matter that he had thought his friend had been doing the same thing with girls when he hadn’t? Tastes vary, that shouldn’t make him feel dirty and worthless. He finished his drink first this time and held it out for a refill.

“Was he good? Was he good at doing it? Was his dick big? Does it matter?” 

“Just fill my glass, wanker!” Remus slammed it down on the coffee table, hoping it would break. It didn’t. “I’m not saying anything.”

“Was it bigger than mine?”

“I haven’t seen yours!”

Sirius looked unaccountably crestfallen. He obediently filled their glasses. “You never peeked?” He checked, quietly.

“Just 'cos I’m a poof?” Remus knocked his whiskey back in one. Then he fell to the floor with his hands over his forehead.

“What the …?”

“Headache!” Remus explained. “Bastard one! Haven’t you got one?” He raised himself to all fours. “This muck is vile!”

“It’s cheap and it gets you drunk,” Sirius stated, leaning over his friend. He pointed his wand at Remus’ temple and muttered. Just as the pain began to ease, he suddenly dipped in his head down and put his lips to Remus’ eyebrow. Just as swiftly, he sprang away, saying, “Drink more slowly then, don’t be such a girl.”

Remus raised his fingers to the spot where the ghost of the kiss sat, feeling dizzy. That wasn’t fair. 

“I must be a girl. What was that for?” It came out sounding more aggressive than he’d intended.

Sirius shrugged, “Kiss it better. Always worked when Nanny did it.”

Remus slowly shifted into a sitting position, leaning his back against the old couch. 

Sirius had started to prowl round the edges of the room. He was remembering Regulus lying his head back on those cushions, the bliss of relief across his features.

“Nanny said I should share nicely, but I never would. He was right. I never shared my toys when we were kids. Mama said I didn’t have to, that Blacks should never give in, we should fight for the things that were important to us. I thought she meant tin valkyries and brooms and model castles. I used to push him out of the way and take his things, too. He had a wooden frog puzzle. Then Nanny would kiss him better and tell me to share nicely.” Sirius paused and crossed back over to the slumped figure by the coffee table, but it was only to fill their glasses again. He resumed his drunken monologue, “Only years later did I realise that Mama had meant values and purity of blood and not playthings. By then I knew that I wasn’t ever going to fight for those things. If I had, if I’d been a ‘good son’, then maybe he wouldn’t have had to be good enough for both of us. Bloody Sorting Hat put me with you lot and then she knew too. Put him in Slytherin. Right place, sneaky bastard. Was that my fault? I got my own way by pushing him around. I was bigger and stronger. All he had was sneakiness. Stupid twat, why take the Mark? I mean, I’m sure she was delighted, but he didn’t need to be that ‘good‘.” 

Sirius took a deep breath and Remus wondered if he’d finished, if there was an answer to all that. He should probably say something at some point. His eyebrow still buzzed lightly.

Sirius kept pacing and soon started muttering again, “He never beat me at Wizard Chess. Kept challenging me, though. Always coming back for punishment. We were close, before school, even though I bullied him and he squealed to Nanny, we were friends. Then the Sorting. I had you lot. I lost interest in him. I could have kept friends with him. He was only repeating what the parents were saying. For years I lived with him without speaking to him. Then I left, I left him alone to deal with them --”

“You didn’t have a choice!” Remus interrupted to remind him.

Sirius looked over, as though remembering that he was there. He stumbled over and collapsed onto the floor. They sat next to each other, almost touching but not quite. Remus kept his eyes on the faded pattern on the carpet. Sirius managed to _Accio_ the two-thirds empty bottle from the coffee table. It wobbled in flight, but it came. He swigged out of it, then muttered, “To Rellus!” before passing it over.

“Regulus,” Remus corrected.

“I know what his bloody name was,” Sirius growled. “I never even tried to talk him round to the Light. If I’d just talked to him, do you think he would have --?”

“He told me, that night in the pub,” - in a toilet cubicle just before I shagged him - “that he’d been chosen by the Rightful Lord. He was as pig-headed as you. You’d never have talked him round.”

“S’pose he warned you about the mole too?” For some reason Sirius was all truculence and resentment again. 

Remus was picturing a small blind animal, with the Blacks’ dark hair. He shrugged, looked confused.

“Spy in the Order,” Sirius elucidated, he seemed happier.

Remus shook his head. There was a spy in the Order? Oh, that sort of mole!

Sirius took back the bottle and, after a few glugs, said, “He told me not to trust anyone. Not even you.”

Remus looked sharply over at his friend. “How’d he know it wasn’t you?”

“He didn’t.”

Remus pouted.

“It’s not,” Sirius reassured him.

“He didn’t warn me!” Remus knew he sounded like a sulky child and wished he could undrink just a bit of the liquor.

Sirius was eyeing him oddly. Remus met his gaze. Gradually his confusion cleared and he said, grimly, “It’s not me.” He continued to look into the grey eyes - nearly the same but not quite.

“Don’t get shirty! I said it first!”

Remus snatched the Bold Nagdens back and drank from it, almost immediately regretting it. He thought about taking the Hangover potion now to sober up and just going to bed. 

His friend’s next utterance drove such ideas from his head, because it reminded him of why they were there, why Sirius needed him to be there.

“He’s dead.” Sirius pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes. 

Remus looked away, not wanting to know whether Padfoot could cry.

There was a loud sniff and then, unexpectedly, Sirius said, “At least I’m the best looking Black now.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“But am I handsome? Do you think I’m attractive, Moony?”

“Sirius, for Godric’s sake!” Remus snapped. He became very aware of his friend‘s shoulder, warm and only inches away. “You’re straight!” He tried to shuffle away, but found he couldn’t co-ordinate his movements.

“I’m not that straight!” Sirius protested. “See me at the end of a party, I’ll snog anything: man, woman or cat.”

Remus looked quizzically at him, not sure if that could be true, or of why his friend would be saying it.

Sirius’ expression was creased with confusion, too. But then, in the slow-motion of intoxication, it rearranged itself to show something close to disgust. “You wouldn’t know that, of course,” he sneered. “Never takes you longer than the first hour to find some strange man to disappear with.”

Remus felt sick. He chose to blame the drink and the ice cream, which was all he had eaten that day. He staggered to his feet and made it to the sink almost in time. By the time he had finished vomiting and cleaning up the multi-coloured, curdled mess, Sirius had passed out on the floor.


	10. A LOVE I COULD NOT OBEY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus is drawn to Regulus' brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNINGS:** Drunkenness. More Angst. More smut (finally!).  
>  Inspired by David Bowie's song _Lady Stardust_ on _The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and The Spiders From Mars._

Remus wondered how anyone could manage to look that elegant when in an alcoholic coma. Somehow Sirius’ long limbs just naturally fell in the perfect pattern. Most of his face was covered by his hair, half of it was pressed against the carpet and yet what was visible drew Remus the way blood draws a vampire. He gently sat beside his friend, careful not to disturb him. One hand hovered over the long back, but Remus decided not to touch. He would just look.

He stared the way he had stared at Regulus when he had been singing. He stared the way he seldom could. He drank in and memorised every feature, noticing every likeness and every difference.

“I lied to him,” he said. Although he had thought he was whispering, his voice sounded too loud in the silent room. Sirius did not stir, though, so Remus spoke again, even more quietly this time. “I lied to him and now he’s dead. He said he wouldn’t be a substitute and when I told him he wasn’t, I thought it was true. But they all are. Every fuck a substitute for the love I can not obey. That’s why they’re all one-night stands, all strangers. I’m trying to scratch an itch that’s too deep. I could never be in a relationship. There’s no space left in my heart for falling in love. It’s all full of you. Sirius. But I can’t …”

His lungs were suddenly knocked empty of air and he found he was lying on his back. A heavy object was preventing him from moving. It smelled of spirits and some blurred darkness was swooping towards him. He struggled as much as he could, instinctively trying to free himself.

“Stupid twat!” growled Sirius’ voice.

“Look, I’m sorry. I thought you were asleep!” Remus gabbled, realising both that it was Sirius attacking him, and what he must have heard if he had been conscious after all. “Padfoot! Mate! You’re drunk, I’m drunk! We’ll discuss this in the morning!” He hoped desperately that Sirius would have had one of his memory blackouts by the morning and that they would never have to discuss it.

Remus thrashed about as much as he was able, but his shoulders were pinned to the floor. The out-of-focus shape that was Sirius’ head crunched down painfully on his nose. Remus swore.

“Stop moving, you twat!” Sirius barked.

“Get off me!” Remus responded.

With an exasperated sigh, Sirius released his grip on one shoulder. That hand took a painfully tight hold on his friend’s jaw and he lowered his head again. This time he found his target, managing not a head-butt, but a kiss.

It was a long kiss - just a press of lips together, but firm and long. By the time he ended it, Remus had stopped moving.

“What was that for?” the werewolf demanded breathlessly.

Cautiously Sirius loosened his grip answering in a confused voice, “What’s a kiss usually for?”

His face was too close for Remus to get his expression into focus.

“You’re drunk, Padfoot,” he responded, smiling sadly.

Sirius pulled away and Remus saw that his face was as confused as his voice. “I thought that’s what you wanted. Didn’t you just say that was what you wanted?”

“You’re straight.”

Sirius took hold of Remus’ hand and brought it down between their bodies. “Apparently not,” he said softly, bringing it up against his clearly aroused cock.

“That me?” Remus asked stupidly, the sensation dulling his brain and half-closing his eyelids.

“Of course.”

“Since when?”

“Months. At least. Months since I realised that’s what I was feeling.”

“Why didn’t you say?”

“Couldn’t have coped with being just another one of your conquests. One time would have broken my heart, would have been even worse than watching you with all those others. You never explained, you twat. I had no idea I might be different.”

Sirius began to move in for another kiss, but Remus sat up instead, pushing his friend away, and stumbled over to the kitchen worktop. “I don’t get it,” he muttered, before downing one of the flasks of Hangover Potion.

As its effects got to work he stared at the other man, sitting on the floor staring up at him uncomprehendingly, then offered the other flask.

“I want to do this sober,” Remus explained, adding, “Whatever we go on to do.”

As Sirius drank and the effects of the alcohol in his system were neutralised, Remus said softly, “How could I tell you, my heterosexual best mate? I couldn’t risk losing you as you ran for the hills. Wasn’t weird, you know. He looks like you. Gorgeous. Not weird. Nearly perfect.”

“But not quite?” Sirius checked, one cocky eyebrow raised.

Remus moved towards him. “Like perfect. Only queer. Only possible.”

“I am possible,” Sirius reassured his best friend, standing up to slide his arms round his waist and kiss him.

This kiss was not just a firm pressing together of lips. This kiss had gentle licks, moving jaws and thrusting tongues. It was accompanied by caresses and soft strokes. It was accentuated with light moans and deep grunts.

When Remus moved his mouth down to kiss and suck his long, pale neck, Sirius said, croaky and apologetic, “Of course, I haven’t got a clue what I’m doing.”

“I do.”

“Should bloody think so by now! Ow!”

“Barely slapped you.”

“Liked it actually.”

Remus chuckled and smacked the other tight, oblong buttock a little harder.

“I’ve never done this with a man,” Sirius mumbled. “Can we take this upstairs?”

Sirius had admitted earlier to having kissed men. He was clearly intending to take things further, to move on to something he hadn’t done before. The thought made Remus moan as he ran his hands over the smooth form of the strong body against his.

“I’ve never done it in a bed,” he replied.

“I can do lying down and sleeping together all night and everything,” his partner teased. “But let’s make it my bed.”

He didn’t need to say, they both knew, that he didn’t want to be with Remus where his brother had been.

For the first time, Remus didn’t bother with hiding his chest - Sirius already knew everything about him - he was comfortable being naked. He would have liked to have examined every beautiful inch of Sirius’ bare flesh, but once they had taken off their clothes, they were both too frantic for that. Anyway, he knew there would be time enough, that there would be plenty of other occasions.

He knew, too, that Sirius’ deflowering was one that he was going to be keen on. It was something he would relish, would take his time over. He would not let it get messy. That would not be possible tonight.

Sirius arched back and cried out as he watched his dick disappear into Remus’ mouth. He gripped the sheets, trying to control his reactions to the warm, moist sucking and darting, massaging tongue. He wanted this to last for ever, but knew it wouldn’t be long.

“Slow down, I’m gonna … Slow down, I’m gonna …”

“Mmmhmmm” Remus agreed, his voice vibrating deliciously, dangerously. One hand was between Sirius’ legs, stroking and squeezing his balls, the fingers of the other played through the dark curly hair round his belly button.

Yes, Remus certainly did know what he was doing.

His head rose, fell, rose - and Sirius couldn’t force his eyes open any more. He could feel his hips bucking, being pushed back, held firm. Stardust started to fall behind his lids. Warmth gathered, the sensations rose and he knew the inevitable was imminent. He had lost the power of speech, though. Remus must be able to sense it, he must be about to move away.

Sirius’ orgasm exploded like hexes, come pumping out of him hard; Remus stayed just where he was, holding it all in his mouth and then swallowing round the sensitive, softening, head of the cock. Sirius panted as he was licked clean.

Remus crawled up the bed, up his lover’s body, to kiss him gently on the cheek.

“OK?”

“Oh, OK doesn’t even begin to …” Sirius shook his head. Then he stroked his palm down the scars old and new, down the fading bruises, wanting to kiss every one better, but not yet. He gripped his friend’s erection the way he would grip his own. It felt different. He started to move his hand slowly up and down as he said, “Now, you’d better give me some clues about what I’m going to do with this.”

THE END


End file.
